Despoiled
by LiterarySpell
Summary: Snape takes babysitting very seriously. Warnings for extreme chan seven years old and non-con


**Title:** Despoiled

**Author:** literaryspell

**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairing:** Snape/Draco

**Summary:** Snape takes the role of babysitter very seriously.

**Warnings:** extreme chan (Draco is seven), coercion, dub-con, non-con

**Word Count:** 8000

**Author's Notes:** A huge thank-you to my amazing and incredibly thorough, thoughtful, and kind betas: lucianwolf, snarkyscorp, l3petitmort, and hitsuzen_hime. I've never had so many before (the large number is directly proportional to my reservations about posting), and thanks to them, this fic is infinitely improved. Thanks, as well, to softobsidian74 and keppiehed for their extensive notes and cheerleading.

Snape hated the way the Malfoys looked together. No family should be so pristine.

If it weren't for the matching attitude, it might have been easier to bear. Snape watched with greedy eyes as Narcissa bent over and gave her child a cool kiss on the cheek.

"Be good, now," Narcissa said, affecting motherly sternness. She failed, and everyone in the room knew it, including Draco, who smiled with an equally feigned sweetness.

"I will, Mother."

Snape knew that Draco had only begun to call Narcissa _Mother_ that very year. Lucius had forced the change, and Draco was very adaptive. He still slipped up, of course, and the glare Lucius would set on his seven-year-old child was chilling.

To Snape, Narcissa spoke in tones of bitter ice. "Lunch, playtime, bath, dinner, bed."

"Of course," Snape replied, having heard the same instructions for years. He met Lucius' slate eyes as if to say, _You chose that?_ Lucius made no indication that he was anything but entirely pleased with the way his life had turned out to the point that Snape wasn't sure if it was a front anymore. Lucius was hard to pin down, at best.

As the elder Malfoys turned to leave—the time was just right for a fashionably late entrance at the Ministry luncheon—Draco approached Lucius quietly, placing a tiny, slender hand on his father's cloak. Lucius couldn't have felt the small touch, but perhaps he had a father's sense of being needed. More likely was that he had a pure-blood's sense of being touched by something potentially messy or dirty.

"What is it?" Lucius asked, his voice going soft halfway through the question, as if he'd had to remind himself it was his child to whom he spoke and not some lowly peon.

"I don't want to stay with him," Draco whispered. And as always with children, the whisper carried easily to Snape's ears.

_Spoilt_.

"Whyever not?" Lucius asked.

Draco looked around, as if the bone china vase or heirloom tapestries would provide an answer. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just don't."

"That's not good enough. And Severus has always taken very good care of you."

Narcissa and Lucius left, leaving Draco glaring at the floor and Snape pinching his nose between a thumb and forefinger. Every time, it began like this.

Snape knelt on the marble floor before Draco, taking the pointed little chin into his hand to force Draco to look at him. "I'm not so bad, am I?" He didn't pull his lips into a smile—yellow and crooked teeth wouldn't placate the boy, certainly—but he did try to effuse warmth through his eyes, though it felt inadequate even to him.

"I don't know," Draco said. He was pouting slightly, his full lower lip wet and protruding.

Snape's thumb came up and stroked it, smearing the wetness onto Draco's cheek until Draco turned away, frowning. Snape quickly brought Draco's face forward again, hard enough to hurt. He pinched that pouty lip and met Draco's wide eyes, so like his father's.

"You will listen to me while I am in charge, do you understand? Or the punishment will be severe."

Draco was clearly struggling with himself. He was stiff and there was a storm in his eyes, but after a few moments, he seemed to relax, tension melting from his limbs. He smiled faintly and said, "I understand."

Snape straightened, his hand still gripping Draco's jaw. "Didn't I tell you last time to call me Uncle Severus?"

With the confused look that children sometimes got when they couldn't remember something but didn't think a grown-up could be wrong, Draco nodded. "Sorry, Uncle Severus."

"It's quite all right. Now, what was first on your mother's list of tedium?" he said in a teasing voice. "Oh, yes. Lunch."

*

A lonely child, Draco was used to entertaining himself. He ate his lunch silently, as he did in most things. He was disagreeable when told to do something a certain way, but when left to his own devices, Draco seemed most content.

When he spoke, however, Snape heard Draco's father.

"You're not really my uncle," Draco said out of the blue.

They were sitting in the temperature-charmed garden. There was a sandbox there that Draco claimed he was too old for, so he sat outside it on the grass and played with the sand within. Snape didn't think there was any difference.

"What makes you say that?" Snape prompted.

"Because Daddy—" Draco stopped, cleared his throat importantly, and began again. "Father says we have different blood."

Snape didn't bother trying to resist rolling his eyes. Let Draco see that he thought his father was an arse. Indoctrinating Draco at so young an age was a sure way to guarantee the sins of the past were repeated. "To your father, such things are of the utmost importance. Are they to you?"

Draco looked confused, and for good reason. The question would be difficult for any man to answer, let alone a seven year old. Snape didn't want to undo what Lucius had done; he simply wanted to make sure Draco didn't disregard him completely, if Lucius had included Snape in those deemed less worthy.

"If they are to Father…"

"And business luncheons are important to your father as well. As are fancy cloaks and Galleons. Do you care about those things?"

With an easy shrug that signified the end of the conversation, Draco went back to his sandcastle.

A year ago, Snape would have been bored to cruelty at having to watch a child with idle hands. Now, though, the air of anticipation was so sweet that it wet his tongue and bathed his mouth.

The sandcastle crumbled time and again, and finally Draco turned to Snape and demanded that he fix it.

"How would I do that?" Snape asked, already withdrawing his wand. He'd done this for Draco before—he simply wanted to see how much the boy remembered.

"I don't know!" Draco cried, slapping the haphazard tower until sand exploded over the confines of the box. "Just do it! My father would!"

Snape sneered at the tantrum but cast _Aguamenti_ anyway, spilling a small pool of water into the sandbox so Draco could build with mud instead.

Draco immediately moved to play with the more mouldable substance, a small smile on his lips as he did. He didn't say 'thank you', but Snape hadn't expected it.

In accordance with tradition, Draco would begin wearing wizarding robes all the time in a few years. Snape would loathe that. There was something pure and easy about the child's simple trousers and shirt. They were dressy, to be sure, but at least they didn't cover every inch of the supple body that Snape so liked to see. As it was, with Draco on his knees and bent forward, the white dress shirt was becoming untucked, and Snape spied an inch of bared ankle from where his trousers rose. Draco had spilt a small handful of watery sand onto the cloth on his thighs.

"I need you to hold this," Draco said, his voice imperious. He didn't so much as look at Snape but simply continued to brace the structure with his own hands.

Snape approached and knelt behind Draco, his knees bracketing the smaller body between them. He leaned around with both arms and covered Draco's small, cool hands with his own. "Like this?" he whispered against the tiny shell of Draco's ear.

Draco squirmed and lifted his shoulder up to press against his ear. "Yeah," he said, bringing his own hands out slowly so only Snape was holding the castle.

For a few moments, Snape contented himself with the warmth of Draco's lissom body against his chest and between his legs. Now and then he would nuzzle Draco's neck, cheek, or hair with his nose or lips, and Draco simply went about reinforcing the tower with more mud, building it up.

"Draco," Snape murmured, drawing out the word, tasting it. "You're filthy."

Draco turned sharply to stare at Snape, obviously trying to understand. He had a child's face, but his eyes weren't innocent, not as they should have been at his age. His pointed nose was sharp enough to cut—Snape hoped it wouldn't become patrician like Lucius' had after puberty. Draco's lips… so pink, so full, so wet.

Snape let go of the castle with one hand—it still stood. He palmed the mess of mud on Draco's trousers, close to his crotch. "See? Such a dirty little boy. Your mother would be horrified."

They both looked down to where Snape was touching Draco. His hand looked strangely large against that thin thigh, spanning the entire width of it. Snape's fingers clenched against his will; the mud gritted beneath his palm, but the warmth of the body beneath seeped through.

"You won't tell them, will you?" Draco asked fearfully. He pushed a little at Snape's hand, but Snape just clamped his fingers down more firmly.

"Not if you're a very good boy for the rest of the day," Snape whispered, his mouth brushing Draco's ear.

"I'll be good," Draco promised. He tried to stand, but his limbs were tangled in Snape's and he fell forward, directly onto the wet sandcastle. He gasped—it must have been cold—and went completely still. Snape rose and held out a hand to the now completely muddy child.

Draco's eyes were wide and shiny with unshed tears. He scooted onto his bottom and looked around quickly as if his mother or father would turn the corner any moment, full of scolding chastisement. His lower lip quivered as he tried to take Snape's hand, but Snape held it just out of reach. Draco reached again; Snape grabbed the muddy hand, pulled him halfway, and let him fall again.

This time, Draco shouted. At Snape, at the mud, at himself. Snape out-waited the tantrum as he always did, content to watch Draco's pale face grow red and splotchy with impotent rage. He'd never seen a child work himself into such a frenzy, and it always fascinated him.

"Come _on_, child," Snape said, still holding out his hand. This time, Draco grabbed it with both hands, staring at it suspiciously for a moment before tightening his grip. Snape yanked him to his feet so hard Draco's neck arched back, and then Snape stepped backward to avoid Draco's mess getting all over his robes. Draco stumbled again but caught himself. He looked well and truly confused, holding his hands out to the side because they were absolutely covered in filth.

"I can't let you into the house like that," Snape mused, eyeing the flushed child. He didn't offer a solution.

"It's _my_ house!" Draco snapped. His voice was hard but his eyes were tearing again.

"Yes, but _I_ am in charge," Snape said with barely contained glee. "I'll cast a water spell to wash you off. It'll be quite cold, but you're a strong boy, aren't you?"

A _Scourgify_ would have solved the problem, of course.

"Yes." Draco's hands were clenched at his sides. "Do it, then."

Smiling at the visibly braced boy, Snape let a stream of icy water shoot from his wand, catching Draco in the stomach. The boy gasped and tried to turn away from the water, but it simply soaked his back instead.

"Stop!" Draco shrieked, holding his hands out to ward off the stream. "Please, Uncle Severus!"

Snape ended the spell. Draco was now sopping wet and still just as dirty. "This is even worse," he snapped, as if it were Draco's fault.

"W-what do you w-want me to do?" Draco pleaded, shivering.

Pondering a response, Snape took in the sight of Draco; he was delectable and so like Lucius in those rare moments of need and anger. "Get undressed. It's time for your bath, anyway."

Draco stood frozen for a long time, enough to make Snape's lip curl in anger at being disobeyed. Finally, though, Draco tugged at the buttons of his shirtsleeves with stiff fingers. After getting all but one and pulling the shirt over his head in frustration, he started on his trousers. They fell to his ankles, revealing skinny legs and y-fronts. He turned away to finish taking off his shirt, slipping his feet from his shoes at the same time. Snape waved the wet clothing away for a house-elf to deal with. Draco's skin was raw-red and covered in goosebumps, his narrow chest heaving with indignation.

"You look quite cold," Snape said sympathetically. "We should get you inside." He gestured for the boy to precede him, stopping him before he reached the door. "Look at your feet, Draco."

There was mud between his toes.

"P-please!" Draco cried in despair. Snape noted the warming charm on the garden had cooled a little. It was probably only set for Draco's playtime hours, and those had ended.

"Use your pants to wipe them off, then you can warm up in the tub."

With a pathetic whimper, Draco yanked down his pants and cleaned his feet with them, trying to cover himself at the same time, but Snape could see his small penis bouncing with his efforts.

When finished, Draco threw the muddied pants onto a rosebush, and Snape waved them away as well. Seeing Draco's still slightly muddy feet, he frowned.

"I'll have to carry you; your father would disown you for a mess on the carpet." He opened his arms as if it was a great hardship, and Draco stepped right into them, having been pushed beyond his limits. He must have been freezing; even Snape was getting chilled. And indeed Draco was iced to the bone—his body was stiff with cold, and his teeth chattered in Snape's ear as he lifted him. One of Snape's arms curled around Draco's back, fingers resting on a pebbled nipple, a hand cupping his icy little arse. Draco's legs went around his waist and he buried his face in Snape's neck, sniffing pathetically.

"Come on, then," Snape said in a more charitable voice. "Let's get you warmed up."

He took a meandering way to Draco's bathroom, relishing the feeling of Draco's tiny body in his arms. He was gradually warming with every step, and Snape's roaming hands did much to further that. As they ascended the stairs, Snape's fingers grazed between Draco's arse cheeks, seeking out that forbidden heat. Draco squirmed a little and burrowed his face deeper but didn't protest.

"Such a good boy," Snape murmured, his forefinger centred on Draco's tiny hole.

"Stop it," Draco whispered, his voice raw.

"Hush," Snape retorted, not unkindly. He didn't move his finger away, stroking lightly all the way to the bathroom where he finally set Draco on his feet.

Draco stood uncertainly, his back against a wall as he watched Snape fill the tub. His hands were hovering over his groin, hiding himself from Snape's prying eyes, and the look on his face was so torn that Snape smiled to himself.

"What's wrong?" Snape asked, his voice nearly a purr.

"I don't like the way you touch me," Draco said immediately, staring at the rapidly filling tub.

"There's nothing wrong about the way I touch you," Snape said, casually disregarding the child's concerns. Snape was greedy—he almost felt like Draco was _his_—Snape probably paid the boy more attention than his own parents. Maybe that was why Draco was so reticent; he wasn't used to attention.

"But Mummy said never let anyone touch my naked places," Draco said in a babyish voice.

"She probably said to never let a _stranger_ touch you, Draco. Do you remember now? To be careful of _strangers_? Not your Uncle Severus. And I didn't hurt you, did I? Wasn't it kind of scary but also exciting, like riding a broom before you were supposed to?" Snape kept his voice low and reassuring. It was enough.

After a moment, Draco nodded. A shudder ran through him and Snape tested the water. It was warm but would seem quite hot to Draco's near-frozen flesh.

"You can get in now," he said. When Draco lifted a leg over the rim of the tub, Snape took the liberty of running his hand along the leg still outside the tub, boosting Draco's arse a little when the boy couldn't quite seem to step over.

"Ow, Uncle Severus!" Draco cried as he sank into the water. It came up to his chin—Snape had forgotten how very small he was and had filled the tub overmuch.

"Shh, you'll get used to it." Snape continued to stroke Draco's leg, over his hip, up his side and back down his front. He gave Draco's penis a gentle squeeze before moving on, repeating the motions and lingering a little longer on Draco's privates each time.

Though Draco kept shifting and squirming, closing his legs together and moving to the far side of the tub, he didn't protest again. Eventually, Draco's cock began to stiffen and swell, making Snape's own cock respond in kind.

"You feel so good," Snape said, catching Draco's eyes and holding them as he manipulated Draco's little cock. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Draco stared at him, eyes impossibly wide, trembling all over. He shook his head, then nodded, then looked away with his teeth clamped onto his lip.

Snape knew that Draco might be able to orgasm, though he wouldn't produce any ejaculate. He vaguely remembered his own early masturbation sessions. Though he'd been older than Draco was now, they'd been intense experiences. He knew it would be the same for Draco if the boy would just allow it to happen.

The water helped slick the way, and Draco's foreskin allowed Snape to stroke him with ease. Snape wanted to explore more, but he needed Draco to be relaxed; most of all, Draco had to feel indebted for the pleasure Snape planned on giving him.

Small fists clenched on the ledges of the tub as Draco was fondled. He couldn't seem to help but rock into the touches, his body betraying himself. Quick, hot pants escaped his bite-swollen lips, and he was looking anywhere but at Snape—not that Snape cared, for his eyes were trained on Draco's groin.

It took getting used to, Draco's small cock, but Snape quickly adapted, squeezing the shaft between two fingers and rubbing his thumb over Draco's sensitive slit and glans.

"Stop," Draco said under his breath, though he didn't try to get away. "Stop, stop, something's happening! I feel sick!"

Snape placed a hand on Draco's frail chest and pushed him back, holding him steady. His sleeves were soaked but he didn't notice, already too entranced by Draco's reactions. "Don't fight it," he coached. "Let it happen."

Draco's body was thrashing, his hips jabbing forward, and he made beautiful, lost whimpering sounds. Then everything went still for a moment before Draco _screamed_ and his body convulsed. Then he went limp again and would have slid right under the water if the pressure of Snape's hands hadn't kept him up.

"What…" Draco gasped, looking at Snape imploringly. "What's happening to me?"

Snape smiled, knowing it was ugly. He pushed damp, white-blond hair from Draco's face and whispered, "It's okay. It's over now."

Draco nodded trustingly. He reached down and touched his limp penis as if to make sure it was still there. Snape pinched it between thumb and forefinger and squeezed, making Draco cry out and slap at Snape's hands.

"Didn't Uncle Severus make you feel _so_ good?" Snape asked. He snatched up a flannel, lathered it in expensive soaps, and began to scrub Draco from the neck down.

"I… I don't know." Then before Snape's eyes, Draco seemed to gather himself up. There was less uncertainty in his voice when he said, "Yeah. It was okay."

After Snape had cleaned the boy everywhere except where he most wanted to, Snape said in a confiding voice, "I know so many ways to make you feel good." He swiped the cloth through Draco's thighs and between his cheeks, pressing it lightly against his anus.

Draco didn't answer, but his legs did fall slightly open; his eyes, however, were sharp and didn't move from Snape's face. He seemed to be calculating something.

The flannel moved against him, swirling over Draco's nipples before resting on his crotch. Snape fluttered the cloth there until Draco's breath came a little more quickly. Aroused, Draco would be infinitely easier to manipulate.

Letting the flannel drop the bottom of the tub, Snape explored with his hand, drawing teasing circles across Draco's perineum, his thumb brushing against the small sac above. Draco's eyes fell closed, though he held himself stiffly, as if ready to bolt. Snape didn't plan on letting him.

When Snape's fingers grazed Draco's entrance, Draco didn't move, didn't make a sound. His eyes opened and he stared between his parted legs, but at that angle, wouldn't be able to see anything.

Draco's hole was clenched tight, the wrinkles soft and smooth. Snape pressed the pad of his finger against the centre, exuding gentle pressure until Draco gasped and tried to move back. Snape's finger simply followed, pressing harder. It seemed like an absurd amount of force was needed before the snug ring gave and allowed the tip of his finger inside. Snape could feel the heat and _tightness_ and it was wonderful.

"See," Snape whispered in an awe-filled growl. "So good."

"No, it's not," Draco corrected archly, sounding almost exactly like Lucius at that moment.

Angry at the thought, Snape pressed forward even harder, forcing his way in to the second knuckle. Draco cried out, and Snape snapped at him to shut up; he was too immersed to allow an interruption.

Draco whined like a puppy, his body clamping around on Snape's finger as he tried to thrust it inside the resisting body.

Snape suddenly realised he was breathing quite heavily and holding Draco down with too much force. He slowly withdrew his finger, watching in fascination as Draco's clenching hole seemed to follow. Sitting back on his heels, Snape said, "All clean. Stand up."

Again, Draco attempted to shield himself from Snape's eyes as he rose from the now-cool water. He grabbed at the towel Snape handed him and wrapped it tightly around his shaking body. Snape helped him out of the tub and rubbed him down, towelling his fine hair roughly, which made Draco scowl.

"Father brushes it," he said petulantly, his lower lip sticking out again.

"It's too short to brush," Snape declared.

"Is that why you don't brush _yours_?"

At the return of the rude and bossy child he was more familiar with, Snape couldn't help but sigh. This was the Draco he knew and had fallen in love with, but the more complacent, accepting Draco had promised to be quite fun.

"Would you like to brush it for me?" Snape asked, rolling his eyes at the boy's dramatic baulk. "Go sit on your bed."

"I'm hungry!" Draco cried, though he walked from the bathroom anyway. There was a slight hitch to his gait, and the way he turned and glared at Snape made it obvious who had put it there.

"You're having dinner in bed," Snape decided. "Now sit there and don't move, or your mother will know your clothes were so defiled that I had to burn them."

"You didn't," Draco whispered, his horror evident. Again, his eyes went wide and glittering. Something twisted in the pit of Snape's stomach at the sight, but he merely walked away, refusing to contemplate it.

The house-elves had already set the table. Snape told one to gather enough food for Draco and himself and put it on a platter. He informed the elf that Draco was feeling under the weather due to spending too much time outside and that Snape would be tending to him. He also asked the elf to notify him the moment the Malfoys returned, but he wasn't worried. After the luncheon, there was a ball, and Lucius never missed a chance to network for all he was worth. Lucius and Narcissa wouldn't be home until the early hours of the morning.

Outside Draco's room with the food, Snape listened for any signs of movement. Pleased that Draco had obeyed his instruction to the letter, he went in. As he'd expected, Draco was sitting primly on the edge of the bed, still wearing the towel around his narrow hips.

"I'm cold," he complained immediately, shivering for emphasis.

"Get under the covers, then."

"But my towel's wet!"

"Take it off." Snape set the tray at the foot of bed and pulled back the covers at the head for Draco.

"I can't get into bed naked," he hissed.

"Why not?" Snape was genuinely curious.

"It's _dirty_. Father says."

"But you're clean. I made sure of it." Tired of discussing it, Snape glared at Draco until the boy cowered and got beneath the sheets, wrapping the sheet awkwardly around his body until he was sitting up, covered, with only one hand free.

Snape moved the tray in front of Draco and got into the bed behind him. He situated his legs beneath the covers, surrounding Draco, pulling Draco's hips back until his arse was pressed against Snape's rather insistent erection. With one hand on Draco's chest, pressing the slight body back against his own, Snape reached around and picked up a fork, spearing a slice of roast duck and offering it to Draco.

"I'm not a baby," Draco muttered, reaching for the fork. "I can feed myself."

"You're acting like a baby right now, and if you keep it up, I'll pretend you are one for the rest of the evening. Now do as I say and eat."

With an unbecoming snarl, Draco jerked forward and bit the meat from the fork, chewing loudly until Snape gave him a light smack upside the head.

"Behave yourself," he said, voice brooking no dissension.

"Sorry," Draco said, and then appeared angry with himself. He didn't say another word for the entire meal. Snape fed him the potatoes and then the peas, which proved difficult so Snape picked them up one by one and pushed them into Draco's mouth, making sure to map the inside with his fingers, tracing Draco's teeth and pressing down on his tongue. Draco quite obviously hated it, but he submitted to it, only trying to bite Snape once.

"Last one," Snape said, pressing the pea inside Draco's mouth. While Draco chewed the tiny morsel, Snape rubbed his lips, enjoying the silkiness on his fingers. When Draco swallowed, Snape offered him some of the milk from the tray, and Draco sipped it cautiously, spilling a little.

"So messy," Snape chided, putting down the glass and turned Draco's face, licking up the trail. Draco gasped as Snape's tongue approached his mouth, but quickly snapped his lips together. Snape wasn't dissuaded; he tongued the seam, pressing against it until it finally softened, and Snape thrust his tongue inside. He pulled it out quickly, though, wanting to reinforce the unspoken 'no biting' rule.

"You're going to be a good boy, aren't you?" Snape untangled Draco from the sheets and pressed his clothed body against the naked flesh in his lap.

"Just don't… do that anymore."

"Do what?"

"Put your tongue on me." Draco shivered.

"But you taste so good." To showcase this, Snape licked a long line from Draco's bared shoulder to the spot below his ear, sucking gently. He slid his wet fingers back into Draco's mouth, two and then three, stretching Draco's lips taut. He pulled out a little when Draco gagged, his other hand searching out a nipple and pinching it. Air rushed in around his fingers as Draco gasped, and Snape thrust in even further. The boy would have to learn to suck, Snape thought. Satisfied for the moment, Snape withdrew his fingers and wiped them on Draco's chest.

Draco said nothing, only tried to jerk away, but Snape held him.

"Go put the tray on the bureau," Snape instructed.

Draco eyed the distance. "Don't look."

"I won't," Snape lied. He closed his eyes until he heard Draco leave the bed, then watched the high, tight arse of his charge as he put the tray away. When Draco turned, his face was filled with betrayal.

"You said!"

Snape ignored him and gathered all the sheets and covers off the bed, throwing them onto the floor. He left the pillows. Now Draco wouldn't be able to hide his beautiful body away.

"What are you doing?" Draco demanded, stopping halfway back.

"I want to play a game," Snape said simply. "Get up on the bed."

Perhaps recalling the myriad of threats Snape had uttered over the course of the day, Draco obeyed, crawling on the bed and sitting cross-legged, his hands tucked in the gap his legs left.

"A game?" he asked in a small voice, eyes hopeful.

"It's a very nice game. It's not easy to excel at, though, even for a bright boy such as yourself."

Draco moved about a foot closer, intrigued. "I'll probably be the best at it! How do we play?"

"Remember how I made you feel really good, in the bath tub?" Snape tried to hide the sneer that ached to come out; he hated speaking so simply to Draco. The child wasn't stupid, after all. But the simple words meant Draco wouldn't get frustrated as he sometimes did when he didn't understand.

Draco nodded and blushed, the redness in his cheeks spilling over onto his chest.

"This game is like that. I make you feel good, then you have to make me feel good, but in a different way. You can ask for help, but you'll lose points."

"How do I win?"

"By making me feel so good I can't play anymore."

Draco seemed to consider. "Why wouldn't I just try to do that right away, to win faster?"

Snape chuckled darkly. "Because that's not how you play."

"What if I lose?"

"Don't worry about that. I suspect you'll be very good at this game."

"Who starts?"

"I'll start. Come here." During Draco's hesitation, Snape unbuttoned and removed his robes. He wore only pants beneath and didn't bother hiding his arousal—Draco would become intimately acquainted with it in time.

Draco watched, and after a moment, moved closer, allowing Snape to arrange him so he was lying on his back. Snape leaned over and took Draco's rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly and scraping very gently with his teeth. Had it not been for the 'game', he might have been much rougher, but he wanted Draco's competitive spirit to urge him on, and that would only happen if he wasn't in pain.

When Snape pulled back, Draco didn't seem affected by the action, though he did touch his nipple a little, almost like he was trying to recreate the sensation. Scooting closer, Draco watched Snape carefully before he licked Snape's nipple, flicking his smooth and pointed tongue over the nub before pulling away.

"You forgot the rules," Snape chastised. "You're supposed to do something different to me."

"But I don't know what to do!" Draco cried, face scrunched up in frustration.

"Draco, that's enough," Snape said, warding off the impending dramatics. "Just think about what might feel good to you. There's no wrong answer; you only lose points if you have to ask."

"What are the points for?"

It was a good question. "How about, instead of losing points, if you have to ask, I can do whatever I want to you for a minute?"

"But it still has to feel good to me, right?"

Snape nodded. "But you have to give it a chance; you can't just say it feels bad so I'll stop. I'll know if you do."

"Fine." Draco sighed. "I'm asking what to do, then."

Sitting back against the headboard, Snape opened his legs. His black pants were tented, and Draco's eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar shape. "Touch me here," Snape directed, caressing his cock lightly.

Draco reached out and touched as instructed; Snape could barely feel the caress before Draco jerked his hand away. He raised hopeful eyes to Snape, who shook his head.

"You have to do it for longer than that," Snape said.

"How long?" Draco asked morosely, staring at Snape's pants.

"As long as I say."

Draco moved to kneel between Snape's spread legs, but instead of touching him, he wrapped slender arms around himself and bowed his head. His shoulders shook slightly.

"What's wrong?" Snape demanded. His cock throbbed at the sight of Draco's wet cheeks when he raised his head.

"Why can't we just play Exploding Snap or a game I know _how_ to play? I don't like this game!"

Snape gathered the child into his arms. Draco's body was overwhelmingly hot, and Snape held him closer still. His hands were explorative as he spoke in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "You just haven't gotten used to it. You need to give it a chance. Did you win at Exploding Snap the first time you played?"

The shake of Draco's head was sullen.

"Did you give up before the first round ended?"

"No."

"Here," Snape said and took Draco's hand. It was clenched, the knuckles white, and he opened the fist patiently before pressing Draco's palm against his crotch. The effect was immediate and probably frightening to Draco: Snape groaned and arched into the touch, gripping the scant meat of Draco's hip. "Now rub a little, all right? And then it'll be your turn again."

Draco moved his hand uncertainly, but with Snape guiding him, he adapted quickly. Snape couldn't help but jerking up into the tentative touches. After a moment he yanked his pants down enough to free his cock and balls. Draco jerked away, fear in his grey eyes, but Snape slowly brought his hand back until trembling fingers closed around his thick shaft.

"Perfect," he moaned, his hand closing around Draco's to instruct him.

Once Draco seemed to get the hang of the actions, Snape stopped him.

"Your turn?" Draco asked, folding his hands to his chest.

In answer, Snape laid Draco on his back and pulled his coltish legs apart. Before Draco could baulk, Snape lowered his head and took Draco's member into his mouth. Draco's balls fit as well, and Snape suckled on his small mouthful, paying close attention to Draco's fits and cries. Draco grew solid in his mouth, and Snape let his saliva trickle down between Draco's cheeks, using that as lubricant and slipping a finger inside.

It was much easier this time, and though Draco made soft, protesting sounds and jerking movements, and Snape was able to get his entire finger in before Draco shouted. Draco's inner walls were smooth and _hot_ and Snape wished there was a way to just crawl inside.

Snape searched out his prostate—he wasn't sure if Draco would feel any pleasure from it, but he wanted to try. When he located the rough-feeling nodule, Draco jerked and whimpered, but Snape couldn't tell if that was simply another reaction or if it was specifically because of Snape's manipulations.

Another stroke against the small nub—so much smaller than Snape was used to with Draco being only a fraction of an adult man's size—confirmed that it was indeed due to his prostate being touched. Draco's cock had deflated with the invasion of Snape's finger, and it was growing no larger now, but he was obviously feeling pleasure.

"Do you like that?"

Draco writhed and turned, trying to get away and get closer at the same time. Eventually Snape removed his finger, wiping it on the sheet.

"And since you had to ask me what to do, I now get to do whatever I want to you," Snape reminded Draco after it seemed he'd been shocked into passivity.

"It hurts," Draco whimpered as he sat up, his hand reaching behind himself to touch his bum.

"Stop stalling," Snape said, even though he knew that Draco was likely not lying about his soreness. Snape's cock was thinking for him, as it had been for much of the day.

"But you just _did_ what you wanted!"

"Yes, but that was my _turn_. Draco, are these rules too complicated for you? Your father always goes on about how bright you are, but I don't know…"

"No, I get it! I was just making sure." Draco lay back down, his hands folded on his concave belly.

"Actually, I want you on your front."

Draco turned, seemingly eager to prove that he could follow instructions.

"Open your legs. Wider. Come, Draco! Perfect." Draco was in the frog position, his thighs perpendicular to his torso, legs bent at the knees. It opened him up deliciously.

Bracing his arms on either side of Draco's waist, Snape lowered himself over Draco's arse and licked a swath from Draco's sac to his tailbone, liberally wetting the space.

A lack of noise made Snape raise his head suspiciously, but Draco's head was buried in the sheet. Snape could see his mouth was wide open—maybe in shock, or perhaps a silent scream. Either way, the boy's arse was delicious, musky and so _young_, and Snape needed more.

For long minutes, he ate Draco's arse, stabbing the tiny hole with his tongue, trying to get in and failing. Every now and then, Draco would twitch or whine, but he didn't try to get away, and Snape appreciated that. He nibbled at the furrow, trying to pull it open with his teeth, but Draco objected to that, so he stopped.

"Isn't… isn't it my turn?" Draco said, just as Snape was beginning to make headway on loosening him.

Snape couldn't tell if Draco was eager for Snape to stop or to try something else himself, but it didn't really matter. Rules were rules. Snape pulled himself up, not bothering to wipe the spittle from his mouth. Draco cringed when he saw, looking away.

To Snape's surprise and pleasure, Draco waited until Snape was sitting against the headboard again and then took Snape's cock into his tiny, bruised mouth. He must have been biting his lips voraciously to make such marks. Snape would have to remember to spell the damage away before the night was over, though he was loath to do so.

Draco, quite understandably, was very uninformed as to what a man likes by way of a blowjob. It was only right to instruct him.

With a steadying hand on the back of Draco's neck, Snape began to press down in a steady rhythm. He didn't try to force too much of himself past Draco's lips, just create a smooth motion Draco could mimic.

"Use your tongue." Snape moaned in pleasure as Draco did as instructed, flicking over the head and what little of the shaft was in his mouth. "Tighten your lips. _Suck_."

It didn't take long for Snape to mould Draco into the perfect little cocksucker. The boy was a natural talent—it had just taken exploitation. Draco bobbed up and down like he _really_ wanted to win the game, and Snape had to stop him when he felt his balls start to draw up.

Draco was panting and flushed when Snape pushed him away. It was a mental picture he'd savour for as long as he could: limbs splayed, eyes watering, mouth red and engorged, pale body blotchy and bitten. And if his legs spread just a _little_ more, Snape knew he'd see the puffy, swollen hole he so loved.

"My turn," Snape said, and he couldn't even hope that he'd kept the sheer joy, the _satisfaction_ from his voice. "On your belly again."

Perhaps recalling that the last time Snape had instructed thus, he hadn't been hurt, Draco turned onto his stomach, spreading his legs wide just as he had before. But that wasn't what Snape had in mind.

Snape moved Draco how he wanted him—mostly on his side, leaning slightly forward onto his belly with one leg drawn up close to his chest—and reached for his wand. He prodded at Draco's exposed hole, slipping an inch or so of his wand inside. The tender hole ate it up, even as Draco wriggled in protest.

"Uncle Severus, _please,_ it hurts so much…"

"Hush, Draco," Snape soothed, whispering the lubrication spell and putting his wand aside. Draco's sigh of relief turned into a groan of pain when Snape inserted his fingers instead. Two stretched Draco obscenely, the wrinkles disappearing completely as Snape violated him.

"_Please!"_ Draco screamed, fighting against the hand that had clamped around his wrist to still him.

Snape removed his fingers. Draco wilted, crying noisily. Removing his pants finally, Snape curled up behind Draco, taking a long moment to rejoice in the size difference. Draco was so _tiny_, so small and vulnerable and debauched and _his_.

He wormed the arm against the bed under Draco's waist and around his body, gripping Draco's raised leg beneath the knee, essentially trapping him. Looking down between their bodies, Snape was entranced by Draco's slimy, twitching hole. He wanted _in_ there… his cock wanted in; it was thicker than he'd ever known, throbbing with a glistening head, foreskin long ago drawn back in anticipation.

When he lined his cock up, Draco immediately began to fight. Snape didn't relent. The hand that held Draco's leg tightened until Draco gave up his wriggling—he'd been bruised almost beyond Snape's ability to repair with magic.

"Please, Mummy will be angry that you hurt me," Draco whispered. A sob escaped his throat, even as Snape pressed into him, still fighting against his tightness. "She was really mad one time when a house-elf left me alone and I fell and hurt my knee." Draco's hands clenched ineffectually in the sheet; every time he sniffled, the blood in Snape's cock pounded.

"Oh, Draco," Snape said, voice raspy with desperate need. With one last, almost vicious push, Draco's delicate hole gave way and admitted him. The action was accompanied by a shriek to rival a banshee, but the room had long since been spelled silent, and only Snape enjoyed the sound.

Draco's body was violently trying to reject him, from the jerking of his legs and arms, to the dizzying clench of his arse around Snape's cockhead, an almost pinching bite.

Holding perfectly still until Draco settled—and when he did, it was with such tangible defeat that Snape almost, _almost_ stopped—Snape kissed Draco's cheek. It was wet with tears, and Snape licked them up eagerly, the salty taste making him think of how Draco's emissions would taste in a few years' time.

Though Draco was limp and still, his hole continued to clamp around Snape. Unable to push any more of himself inside without risking damage to his own foreskin, Snape pulled out only slightly, so that the head of his cock was squeezed brutally in Draco's ring of muscle, and pushed back in. Again and again he pressed into Draco's slick, vice-like grip. Draco quietly keened with every thrust, his entire body covered in a sheen of sweat. His eyes stared straight ahead, and his hands were limp on the bed before him.

"Daddy," Draco whispered brokenly. A few moments later, again, "Daddy, help me."

It was enough. Lucius' precious boy, his beloved, perfect, pristine angel, marked and soiled by Severus Snape.

Having been working up to that moment the entire day, Snape's orgasm was catching up to him quickly. He could only regret that it was almost over. Another few harried, jerking thrusts and Snape bellowed out his climax, plunging in another half-inch and reinvigorating Draco's abused body.

He could _feel_ himself pumping into Draco, filling him with slippery, warm seed. On the third pulse, he pulled out, ropes of come anointing Draco's rapidly closing hole. One last spurt on the boy's arse cheek had Snape panting.

When Snape had been pounding into Draco at the end, Draco had began to struggle again, but now he was completely still except for his shaking shoulders. He'd rolled over onto his stomach slightly as Snape pulled away. The only sound in the room was of broken sobs, and even that wasn't enough to bring life back to Snape's cock.

Every time Draco wailed, a dribble of come would escape his hole. It was tinged pink, but not enough to make Snape worry. Almost absently, Snape scooped the come from Draco's arse and smeared it over the boy's violently red lips. Draco was practically catatonic, not even licking his lips to rid the smell. Encouraged, Snape gathered up the come leaking from Draco and pushed it back into his arse with a finger.

"No more!" Draco wailed almost unintelligibly. He scrambled away and perched against the headboard, clutching it with desperate hands and levelling Snape with a look so accusatory it stole Snape's only just returning breath.

Snape had never seen that look before, no. But he knew Lucius had.

Ignoring Draco for the moment, Snape regained control, if he'd had any to begin with when it came to Draco. He spelled away the lube and come from his own body before pulling on his pants. He left the bed and picked up his robes, searching for the very familiar purple vial. He emptied the contents into the remainder of Draco's milk and handed it to the shaking boy.

"For the pain," he lied.

Though Draco's face was streaked with tears, his eyes had dried. He watched the glass closely, as if demanding that the milk explain itself. He was obviously in pain from the way he held himself, but he just as obviously did not trust Snape.

"Your father brewed it," Snape said, another lie.

Trust in Lucius _always_ won out. Reaching out with both hands, Draco took the cup and emptied it quickly, the come from his lips leaving a wet slickness on the glass. The measure had been perfect, and Draco was unconscious in moments.

It took Snape almost twenty minutes to repair the damage of their day together. He diminished the swelling from all over, focusing on Draco's eyes and his hole. Any internal bleeding was healed. Bruises, bites, even friction burn from the sheets—all healed. Snape even brushed Draco's hair, the light strands sparking blue in the low light of the room. Snape tucked Draco in and brushed his cheek with the back of a finger. Maybe he couldn't keep it up forever, but for now, it was their little secret.

Before healing Draco's lips, Snape pressed one last kiss to them. There was a feeling of ritual when he cast the final spell, activating the potion. Draco's memories of the event would become nothing more than a bad dream, non-specific and made only of pain, degradation, and sorrow. He might try to tell Lucius.

He had before.

But Lucius would simply embrace his son and explain that there was no need to be afraid of Severus just because he was ugly and smelly and strange. Draco would forget. Lucius would forget.

Then Lucius and Narcissa would need another night out. If there was enough time to brew the potion, Snape would.

After all, Lucius _was _familiar with the look of despair and horror and betrayal, but not because he'd seen it on his son's face.

Because he'd seen it on Snape's.

_The End._


End file.
